


Shift

by paraboobizarre



Category: The Following
Genre: Footjob, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Paul lies back down again, the way he looks at Jacob makes the spaces between them shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this is off-putting to some people and I should warn about this, so here we go: This basically involves a footjob, so if that's not your thing or you have an irrational fear of feet (podophobia, like one of my friends does), then you should probably skip this.

He notices the funny smell in the apartment as soon as he opens the door. It smells of smoke, but not the kind of biting cigarette smoke he remembers from when he was little and his father would light up over breakfast.  
He finds Paul in the living room, stretched out on the sofa, using a saucer balanced on his stomach for an ashtray, smoking, what – yep, pretty much looks _and_ smells like – a joint. 

“Seriously, Paul?” He asks, noticing that unpleasant accusatory tone in his voice as soon as the words are out. Striding across the room, he opens a window, plunks his bag down on the floor and sits on the sill, letting fresh air into the room.

Paul just smiles at him, takes another drag and tips some of the ash into the saucer.  
“Relax, Mister Teacher,” Paul drawls, stretching out some more and wiggling his freakishly long toes, “I know it's a gateway drug and all, but I promise I won't start selling your collection of mint condition Fabergé eggs for crack any time soon.”

“I don't have...whatever that is.”

“But every self-respecting gay man has those!”

“Yeah? Where are yours then?”

“Never claimed to be self-respecting,” Paul chuckles and if Jacob notices how the muscles under that slightly too tight shirt contract as he laughs, it's got nothing to do with anything.

Jacob pushes off the sill and walks over towards the couch. There's no point in making Paul do anything he doesn't want – he has realized as much by now – so he might as well go with the flow. 

“Scoot over,” he says, standing at the foot of the sofa. They got the biggest one they found but Paul still manages to have both his head and his feet hang over the edges at the same time.  
“Oh come on, take the chair,” Paul all but whines, stretching out exaggeratedly.  
“Nuh-uh, that's my couch as much as it is yours. I paid for half of it, so scoot over, Bigfoot,” he says, trying to sound stern, but Paul is much harder to impress than his second graders.  
Paul stretches once more, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face.  
“I share the couch with you, if you share this joint with me.” He holds the blunt out to Jacob. 

Jacob can't stifle the massive eye rolling he feels coming on. As easy going as Paul can be, he can also be so childish and stubborn at times it makes a six year old seem mature. He has smoked pot before – he went to college after all – but it wasn't a pleasant experience. It tasted like an old sock and made him sick to his stomach. When he went to throw up in his friend's miniscule bathroom, the others had already been too baked to care. He's not exactly looking for a repeat performance of that and yet, he accepts the offered joint and takes a drag.

“Good boy.” Paul smiles and pulls his legs back, making one half of the ouch free for him.  
As Jacob fights the urge to cough up the acrid smoke, he wonders what exactly it is about Paul that makes him seek this guy's approval. It's like he's the annoying, eternally needling older brother that Jacob never had. The way Paul can get him to do the most stupid things and make it seem okay, adventurous even – it's kind of unnerving. 

Eventually they manage to wiggle into the opposites ends of the couch, their legs crossing in the middle and one of Paul's feet is rubbing against his side. His other foot is resting lightly against Jacob's stomach and it's too tempting not to touch those strange, spidery toes.  
“Has anyone ever told you that you have freakishly long toes?”

“You know what they say about men with big feet, right...Will?” Paul wriggles his toes against Jacob's hand and the toes thread between Jacob's fingers, squeezing lightly. Jacob almost chokes on the smoke he's inhaling. 

“What is wrong with you? Those things are like...prehensile!” He tries to drop the ash on the dish on the coffee table but misses. When Paul laughs this time, Jacob can feel it in his legs and arms, on his belly. His fingers and toes are starting to tingle. It's pleasant, like every cell in his body is starting to vibrate at a low setting. The strong afternoon sun is painting their living room walls orange and Jacob can feel himself melting into the cushions. Whenever he flexes his fingers around Paul's toes he gets a squeeze in return and he's content to just lie here like this, passing the joint back and forth, watching the shadows of the window slats creep across the wall. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed but at some point Paul gets up and walks out into the hallway. When he comes back, he's carrying a small plastic baggie. Paul switches on the torchiere and sets about rolling another joint. Even from where Jacob is fusing together with his stack of cushions, it's clear that Paul has done this many times before. Seriously, how often has he done this already?

“I used to smoke in college. Rolled my own cigarettes, because I was eternally broke but didn't want to quit, so yeah, did this _many_ times, but not necessarily joints.” Paul licks the paper, tucking the ends in and rolling the thin thing between his fingers.

Huh. So he actually asked that question, didn't just think it. Weird.  
The click of the lighter, when Paul sights up, seems inordinately loud. He passes the joint over to Jacob before squeezing onto the couch again and Jacob accepts it without so much as blinking. It's actually starting to taste kind of okay. 

Their feet tangle again and when Paul's foot brushes over Jacob's stomach again, it seems kind of a neat idea to cover it with the palm of his hand and push it under his T-shirt. Having the pad of Paul's foot press against his belly, his toes wriggling against the skin there. That feels kind of good, bordering on great even. 

Jacob's starting to feel brave, so he takes another long drag and asks the question that has been bothering him for ages already.  
“Did you really kill that guy when you were twelve?”

“Mhmm,” Paul smiles as he nods, yet there's something distant in his eyes, “but it wasn't like I planned it. It just happened, you know. I just got so angry and I pushed him. I was lucky he died or he would have smashed my face in.”

Paul shakes his head, staring up at the ceiling as if there's some kind of answer to all their questions up there. 42 maybe, who knows.

“I got away with it,” he says suddenly, “and that made all the difference. I don't think the world is made up of good and bad people. I think, deep down, we're all capable of something like that and we _all_ want to do it at some point, but we don't think we can get away with it. Once you realize how easy killing someone is, it's hard to see the point in holding back anymore It's like I got some kind of permission that day.” He smiles at Jacob again and this time his eyes are in it, too.  
“So...there's still hope for you,” he adds, poking Jacob in the stomach with his foot.

“And now, for that bit of highly...extremely personal information,” Paul sighs, stretching impossibly long, his foot sliding up Jacob's stomach in a way that makes goose bumps pop up on his arms, “you be a good boyfriend and give me a foot rub.” 

He winks at Jacob, the pad of his foot rubbing briefly up towards his chest before he pulls his leg back and Jacob gets an eyeful of his boyfriend's, no, Paul's mutant toes. It's strange he doesn't protest. It doesn't feel like he should. He presses his thumb into the arch and the sound that touch coaxes out of Paul makes it hard to say anything much after that. 

It's a unfamiliar kind of quiet, but not uncomfortable really. Slowly rubbing Paul's foot, Jacob watches Paul watching him through hooded eyes. It's funny, considering that only three days ago they kissed in front of a group of twenty people over at a party at Sarah's flat and yet this feels way more intimate.  
Paul's head lolls against the cushions and he smiles, that kind of small secretive smile that's just for himself, biting his bottom lip. The sight of it makes some something heavy and warm in Jacob's stomach roll over and start to float. 

Eventually Paul pulls back his leg and reaches over to the coffee table awkwardly to stub out the rest of the joint. When he lies back again the way he looks at Jacob makes the space between them shift.  
The foot that's tucked against Jacob's side presses in just lightly, the toes wriggling against the bare skin on his upper arm and then that other foot slides up Jacob's leg. The arch fits perfectly over his kneecap and then he can feel it slip up along the inseam of his jeans, those toes spiderwalking up between his legs as if they are thing to themselves, moving slower and slower the higher they go.

The way Paul looks at him, that smile half hidden in early evening shadow, is a question, but Jacob doesn't know what to say. So he just gives in to the low buzz in his head, closes his eyes and let's his head roll back, waits for those toes to continue their journey. 

The ball of Paul's foot pressing up against his crotch feels like someone jolting him with electricity. It's subtle at first, barely more than the shadow of touch, the warmth of Paul's skin soaking through the denim. Toes flex against him, pressing in just a little harder, just against that perfect spot behind his balls and it makes Jacob hiccup on the breath he doesn't know he has been holding. Far off, at the other end of the couch, he can hear Paul chuckle quietly, but that sound could come from the moon for all he cares about it.

Pushing up against his balls, that barely there pressure, Paul's foot slips over the fly of his jeans, rubbing against the fabric until his heel is the only thing pressing against the base of his cock. It's a curious feeling, too much and too little at the same time and Jacob covers Paul's foot with his hand again, pushing him against the length of his cock. He's getting hard fast, his dick already straining against the confines of his jeans and Paul's foot takes its sweet time describing the light curve to the right, pads pressing down just hard enough to make Jacob feel it. 

Maybe it's the pot talking but this, having Paul's foot rub him, pressing against his balls on every down stroke in a way that's just a little shy of painful, shouldn't feel so hot. It's a strange, disembodied kind of a turn on, nothing touching him but that, Paul not kissing him and the moment that thought scurries across his cotton packed mind, he realizes he kind of wants Paul to. 

“Open your pants.” Paul sounds about as wrecked as Jacob feels.  
The intensity of Paul's stare, when Jacob opens his eyes, chases a shiver down his spine. He can't remember anyone ever looking at him like this, like they are about to eat him alive and it's thrilling beyond belief. Slowly he pushes Paul's foot farther down, pops the button of his jeans and slides down the zipper. In the vanishing half light of the room, he thinks he can see Paul's eyes following the downward trek of the zipper but he might just be imagining things. He sinks back deeper into the cushions, pushing his jeans down lower.

The tips of Paul's toes are still snugged up against his balls, pushing up slightly against the bulge in his boxers. It's like Paul's gaze is a physical thing and Jacob can feel heat spreading across his chest, seeping down to pool in his belly. He wants to keep looking at Paul but it's too much and he has to close his eyes again.  
Paul's foot slides upwards again, whispering against the fabric of Jacob's boxers. It slides underneath his hand again, the two of them slotting together just like that and Jacob strokes up Paul's foot, up his leg and back down again, rubbing the sole harder against his cock and arching into the pressure. His breath syncs up with their rhythm, Paul dragging his foot down further every once in a while to press and wiggle against his balls in a way that has Jacob grind against him, his breath tipping into a breathy moan. 

He can feel himself getting wet, a moist spot forming against the cotton where his dick strains up against his belly. On the next upstroke, Paul's toes splay just against that spot, slowly moving back and forth, pushing down the elastic of the waistband bit by bit till it's rubbing against the tip of his cock, making Jacob squirm in a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. He pushes Paul's foot down again, caressing along the arch as they slide past each other and he hears Paul's breath stutter.

This could be just like that one time they kissed after getting drunk at Sarah's party. Go with the flow and then pretend that nothing happened. They've gotten quite good at compartmentalizing by now. But hearing Paul's breath coming out in a rush like that, Jacob can feel his resolve crumbling. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he really just wants to crawl over, on top of Paul and kiss him.

Paul's foot moves up again, making Jacob's hips buck into the touch, toes sweeping over where the tip of his cock already peeks out under the waistband. Paul's heel presses against the base harder than ever before, grinding down and Jacob groans, can't help himself, even as he pushes up against Paul. He can feel his orgasm starting to gather at the base of his spine, a wave that surges higher with every breath he takes. Paul's toes rub in maddeningly precise circles against the sensitive underside of his cock, smearing the wetness there and Jacob bites the inside of his mouth, tasting metal, when everything boils over and he comes in a rush over his own stomach, the world becoming darker around the edges.


End file.
